PART 2- I NEED your help BLOG friends.....

I have some very devoted, loyal, lovely readers....if I could kiss your faces, I would. I have shared my life with you and vice versa for some.

SO- I'm at what feels like a "choice making" crossroads and I need your help. My mom has always said, "JUST DECIDE and do it."

Well, I hate making choices, but I don't want life to make them for me because of my apathy, so instead....I'm making a poll. My best friend and I usually give each other "three options" for whatever it is we're doing/eating/where we're going, etc and that is how we decide. What can I say, we're both Sagittarius', fickle and chameleon.

I've wanted to travel for a long time, but I haven't taken the initiative to just GO (though the goal is to go on tour and then all of that is taken care of) and I'm always trying to decide where to make my next home......or where to live (for sometime at least.) Somewhere liberal (sorry conservatives, though I doubt you're reading my blog), somewhere artistic and inspiring....interesting.....

Because you are all scattered about the world, I figured I'd make this an OPEN DISCUSSION....where should Chelsea Talks Smack go next????? Should she travel and to where? Or, should she make a home for herself somewhere...(for awhile) and where should it be????? What place on the map do you think "fits?"

Hey, I may even take your advice. That'd make this whole blog interesting wouldn't it....we'll see....

Summer Drunk Love

I am completely, overboard, drunkenly, head over heels for summer.

This is the first time I've fallen so hard for it. I tend to lean towards cloudy days, scarfs and a warm mug of piping hot coffee with creme brulee creamer while some sort of melancholy music plays in the background. Amos Lee or some sad girl with a guitar usually fits perfectly and nests into me, finding it's spot. Usually, that makes me happy. I usually don't open my windows and my home is dimly lit, dark and cozy....like a little cottage. But for the past month each morning I've been throwing open the blinds, and changing immediately from my pajamas into something tiny, little shorts and or baby doll dresses.

This new love for summer I think is in direct relation to some sort of inner shift I had, I'd like to think it's an opening of some sort. When I was in LA I took for granted that is was summer everyday. It irritated me. But summer signifies people emerging out of their little shells (homes, clothes?) and going out into the sun to spend a day with the world. People want to be active. Frisbee, bike rides and swimming pools.

I'd also like to take a minute to say THANK YOU GOD for the male form. Holy, holiness. Women are beautiful creatures, but MEN they are specimens.
Summer makes me carnivorous like a human T-REX- a ravenous beast. I want to sink my teeth into a nice chunk of bicep. I caught myself staring at a man on the treadmill in front of me yesterday because I found it FASCINATING that his ASS didn't move while he sprinted. It was like a two rocks buried themselves into his gluts, then in his calf muscles and I considered asking if I could take a squeeze to see what was in there. I love bodies. Different shapes and lines. When it's summer you get to see them, and appreciate their uniqueness. I am a dirty old man, but glory, glory thank you for man space.

I'm in a really strange place right now, not sure where I'm going/what I'm doing and think because of that I have a heightened awareness for all of things that are around me RIGHT NOW. Because, I'm so uncertain of where I'm going to be tomorrow (more on that later.) Luckily, I've been given a lot of freedom but I'm inherently an indecisive person and because of that, the freedom isn't because exercised as much because I can't make the first move. I've sort of hopped on some train and decided to just go for the ride....so to speak. I haven't even been able to write...

So while I'm here- right now, I'm high, euphoric, buzzedddd on all things summer. Tan skin, smoothies, coolers full of snacks, beer the smell of BBQ. Laying in the grass while ants crawl over your arms, driving with my windows down, fresh pineapple, music festivals, and baseball games.

What are in getting drunk on this summer? (feel free to make that a literal or figurative answer)

Too Much of a Good Thing is.....DELICIOUS.

"Why not seize the pleasure at once? How often is happiness destroyed by preparation."

Jane Austen

You bet, I did, in the most girly and cliched way possible- I have just quoted Jane Austen. The quote hit me immediately and I found it interesting that instead of ending it with a question mark, she ended it with a period. As in, this is fact.

Interesting when you think about it, what happens when we over plan and event; map out the details to the most minute and trivial specifics, play "what if" games in our heads, then, instead of enjoying the outcome we're often so ridden with the stress that it took to get there, thereby making the entire process agonizing and not pleasureable at all. Often, we place such an empasis on wanting something to be great, that we aren't OK with everything just being good. Or just being at all. When the person gets so caught up in the outcome the entire motivation behind the wanting of the end result is lost completely.

Instead of enjoying the meal you worry about the money you had to spend to pay for it. Instead of keeping sight of the reason why you're planning the event, why you're getting married, why you're celebrating- whatever, you're busy focusing on the frustration, the stress or the pimple. WHATEVER IT IS, it is inane, but it has become the main event.
Rather than appreciating the way something made you feel you start to question your frivolity, or your judgment. Taking a joy ride in the middle of the day or ditching that "thing, that that person wanted you to go to" is laden with guilt. You repremand yourself for being doing something so insignificant.

It's as if we have this stimuli on PLEASURE, as if pleasure is bad. If we succumb to hedonism we are being reckless or dangerously impetuous. The process of feeling guilt associated with pleasure is set in our brains so much that instead of reveling in the euphoria of something that makes you spring about with glee and stupid grinning, we rush at the first chance to throw our hands into the pot and messy things up. What about the saying, "Don't fix it if it ain't broke" Yes, it's country but so what...if things are good we shouldn't be waiting for the giant shoe to fall out of the sky and knock us down. Or when people say, "Yep, everything is going so well...I' just waiting for something bad too happen....TOO GOOD TO BE TRUE." Yes, if you say so my friend. Have fun being miserable when "the bad thing" comes along.

When your body starts saying, "Oh, this feels nice." or "I may just sleep ten more minutes..." it says, "This is so good, it must be a sin." Our brains have been warped to condemn ourselves for having too much fun. Since fun must be fruitless. The phrases, "It's not supposed to be fun, it's WORK." and "Well, life's not always fair." "You're having too much fun...." Having too much fun, what the fuck does that mean!? And in America, work better be fun because in order to survive (for most) it's your entire existence. You know what isn't fun, dying and looking at your life and saying..."Well gee, that wasn't that much fun, glad to go." I'd like to have a sit down with whoever started saying, "....it's sinful" when someone licked chocolate from their fingers and said..."this is so good..so good it's....(loss for words)" SINFUL? That would have hardly been my response. Whoever decided that decadence, JOY, sheer delight, were useless emotions, were sorely mistaken.

Seizing the pleasure for me would mean: sleeping until noon when I felt like it, pulling over the car when there's a hill worth rolling down, eating Australian strawberry flavored licorice, that extra glass of wine, sex- all. damn. day., a spoonful of rich chocolate ICING, risking rejection and telling someone I want them, singing LOUDLY, screaming- because it feels AMAZING, licking my fingers, letting someone grab me-kiss me-squeeze me and squeezing them back. Vacationing more often, not feeling obligated, spicy peppers and pungent perfumes, dark chocolate and leaving my phone at home for the day. Staying an extra hour or leaving early, curling up or spazzing out. Taking my guard down, crushing it beneath my feet and running bare naked through my entire world. More flesh and more skin. Sweaty palms and butterflies. Hearts skipping beats, and skipping. Just one more time, again, a little extra and side of that.
Pleasure is something that I let consume me, JUST BECAUSE. And that, is fine by me.


If you were to seize the pleasure today, what would it be???

All Jacked UP

I've been having an incredibly hard time sleeping lately. I've never needed much sleep, running on fumes is a constant for me and rarely do I crash completely. Don't get me wrong I LOVE sleeping, right now- I just can't.

When my head finally hits the pillow is usually when all of the "writing worthy" topics hit me, then the moment I sit up and put my feet on the ground, the thoughts are gone. RIGHT when I'm about to get ready to go to sleep is usually when I get a sudden urge to Google, "INDIA" or "Ashrams in India"....then something else random like, "inner peace" or "cupcake recipes" why? I don't know, because the idea of fucking cupcakes is akin to inner peace. Um.

Today, I was particularly brutal to myself. One of those shitty self confidence days where you star in the mirror and say cruel things like, "you look fucking terrible."
WHY do we do that? Some of the things I say to myself, I'd straight judo chop someone for saying. A chop directly to the larynx. Don't speak those words, annnnd CHOP! Hiyyya! Sometimes I think that if I talk to myself like I'm a drill Sargent that I'll suck it up and be all steel-like. Unshakable. Like a rock, in the non- Dodge sort of sense. Then, it hits me....my inner talk can go from loving affirmations, "love and light...I am complete and open, healthy, peaceful and serene." to...."what the fuck is wrong with you, look at you- you're a mess. you're alone, your hair sucks, your boobs look tiny today and your stomach isn't nearly as small as you thought it was yesterday. You are delusional. And yeah, you should've worn your retainer. Your teeth look stupid. BTW you're still lost. Go play Solitaire. Ugly."

?!?

What the hell happened to my loving zen master and where the fuck did that crazzzzzzy voice stash her???! I want her back! Stop taking my serenity hostage, you voice of evil, you!
Then what happens is I start having the anxiety, oh yes. ANXIETY. Like a neurotic, frenzied character from an indie film. I start saying things like, "I need to get some air." or "I can't feel my hands." My brain warps from anxiety so much that I unconsciously make my hands go numb....then what do I do? Google it, just in case its some rare medical mystery that I should be concerned about. Apparently I think I can find all my answers through Google and ashrams.
Now, I am NOT that person. I don't believe in getting sick, that's right- I don't believe it. I believe I have full control over my mind, my health and my destiny, but lately; shit has been misfiring and I'm all fucked.

My purse is full of sugar packets because right now it's my mental mind-trick when I start to feel panicy, a complete placebo but it's working.

So, INDIA or bust??? Camel ride for one please.

Part of the Lonely Hearts Club

Oh no, everytime I "forget" that I'm lonely...it starts to creep up again. It's like right about when I think everything is groovy and wonderful that I remember, usually when I'm feeling a bit bored....that I'm actually, quite lonely.
I've talked a lot about wanting love again, etc. Wanting to start dating (not even MORE, just at all) and the truth about my moving back and forth really is; if there were a real reason for me to stay, I would. I'm always considering doing something extreme and when I tell you The Peace Corps, singing on a cruise ship, flying to Rio, and working at a hostel, attempting to work a "merch" table to go on tour, etc. have crossed my mind- I am absolutely serious when I say I've really looked at the details, and been "this close" many times. I even almost made an audition tape to be a dancing pony on the "My Little Pony LIVE!" tour. Yeah.

It's not like I've felt that sense of community yet where if I leave I feel like I'll really be missing out on something. More often than not, I'm left twiddling my thumbs and taking myself on "artist retreats" and "dates," exploring and acting as if everything is just peachy keen. When most of the time, it is. Contradicting to all my "now" type thinking, I know. Then, I stumble upon a day where I realize....wow, it'd be nice to do all of this with someone. Or, it'd be really nice to find a group of people who are all of my same "page." It'd be nice to feel "involved" with something/someone/some group? so much to where I felt I was finally fitting into my "notch." Not niche, but notch, like a little peg and I finally am not a circle attempting to squeeze myself into a triangle.

I've become obsessive with the 60's and 70's, no. Really obsessed. An unofficial spokesperson. Partially because whenever I read, listen or watch anything involved with that era you can sense an energy that everyone is emitting, an excitement....everything is still new. People were unafraid to break the mold, the were groups of creative people popping up everyone giving, promoting "free love" and peace (I'd like to think this isn't all attributed to the LSD and the acid) people were quite fearless and hopeful. Less desensitized, willing to take risks and explore. Creativity was feeding off of other creative energy and people were effortlessly fulfilling their artistry.

While in SD I read Wonderful Tonight by Pattie Boyd, George Harrison and Eric Clapton's ex-wife and though she had an extreme life, turbulent and painful at time, I was ridiculously inspired....I've always loved The Beatles and anything they did, said, or anything affiliated with them. Reading about the behind the scenes and reading about the muse of so many classic songs ("Something" "Layla" etc.) reminded me why I yearn to find that connectedness between people where you are not only inspiring one another but creating, living, learning and growing together. Right now I feel an extreme BLOCK, I'm singing but I need my Bernie Taupin, my Hammerstein, my Astaire. My Paul, John, George and Ringo.

Much of them time I feel like a lone wolf looking for someone with a like mind, hence why I've become so intent on wanting a relationship- when I find the right one, he will be a like mind. I've considered forming a band before and have looked, to no avail have yet to find the right players. You don't just throw together anyone with an instrument and call yourselves Aerosmith. There has to be something much deeper when you're making anything with someone, a sense of understanding and an unspeakable bond of some sort.

And beyond music, I'd like to at least be "in it" and not alone. Funny, coming from someone who has been proudly independant in all aspects, often to a fault. I have built and created my own bubble. Though, I'd be happy to let people in it, just not sure where to find them.

Stay Classy San Diego

I am having a love affair with the west coast. Its one of those illicit relationships, very romance novel-y (and I am big breasted and swooning), where I have New York, the lover that has yet to let me down- I am only searching for it's faults...I am restless but it is "stable", that everyone says is "right" but the taste of salt and the lure of sun kissed skin, natural oils and rustled hair makes me want to wrap myself back into the arms of the west coast, leave all of my things and start wearing tie-dye, pooka shells, and flimsy bikini tops, staying bed all day with the scent of "him" on my skin.

I want to take long naps in the sand, burying my feet under to keep them warm, read memoirs and rent a studio Oceanside. I want to fill my rooms with fresh flowers, every window open-the sound of the waves and the birds, people rollerblading and honking horns on handlebars.
I want shelves with knickknacks, seashells and handpicked shiny rocks. I want candles that burn throughout the day, patchouli oils and incense. I want vintage woven baskets with fresh fruit, afghan carpets, scarves draped over rocking chairs and patio furniture. I want to smell of a long day OUT in the sea, I want my shoulders to be browned and warm, my cheeks pink and my legs strong from running in the sand. I want to wake up every morning and stretch my heart towards the ocean and breathe in it's sound. My inner instincts tell me San Diego is perfect, right now. And maybe that's all it is....right now. But it's hard (being the mere mortal that I am) to not wonder, but what happens when I'm not here, right now- how do I feel then? What if I want this, "right now" all the time?

My family and I are here and enjoying RIGHT NOW more than anything, "June gloom" was what we were greeted with but that hasn't stopped us from surfing, and eating icecream on the boardwalk. Family vacations are always amusing, we ARE the Griswold's. Even when I was a kid my Daddy was eerily similar to Chevy Chase, he even fell through the ceiling in my room once trying to, "catch that damn bird!" in the attic. Thus far, all of us are still in once piece but we like to pummel through everywhere as if we're bulls in a china cabinet, and I as full of graceful as I am- have only broken one glass.
We make friends and scenes wherever we go, we're buoyant people with high energy and very clear love for each other and laughter- my Dad, like Chevy is always bumbling around making everything as "perfect" as family vacations should be, in the most inappropriate and entertaining manner. Though we have yet to get drunk and dance on any tables like previous vacations. No, seriously.

Tonight at dinner we told our waiter we were celebrating, when he said, "HAPPY FATHERS DAY!" my Dad had completely forgotten but genuinely meant we were celebrating...."What are you celebrating then?" our response, "...life!" and just like that, each one of our desserts came out with flaming, very high, sparklers CRACKLING madly through the restaurant, "TO LIFE! CHEERS!"

So here in SD, as I do my best to restrain myself from speaking in an Anchorman, Ron Burgandy voice everywhere I go, I am celebrating life. The scenary and shirtless men are specimans alone. Anyone with 0% body fat should be considered a piece of art. I have yet to look at my cell phone, have managed to work at night when everyone is already asleep and haven't asked what time it was since we got here. Leaving behind the things that we're usually so tangled up in (internet and television included) I have been looking at all the things that I usually would have missed and with that have shaken my inner (sometimes dormant) bohemian to wake up again.

I'm going to bed tonight legs sore from the running and the "attempted" surfing, tired from being a part of the day, and intoxicated from the overwhelming feeling of freeness, that I feel here.....and as the stars align, maybe some more time for me, here will too. And right now, it is perfection.

I Am a Star

I got a job stopper. That's right, a "JOB STOPPER." What is that you ask? Just a star tattooed on my wrist. That's what my Dad calls it and when my Grandma showed him the same one he said, "Are you seriiioooouuuussss....you're JOKING?! Chelsea is a bad influence." Indeed, we were not joking.

I've been known to be quite persuasive, so when My Grandma, My Aunt and My Mom all went out to lunch the other day all it took was a couple glasses of wine and my sweet words over some creme brulee, for them to all agree to get the same tattoo, in the same spot. Four women, one 66 years old all rolling up to the tattoo parlor to get some ink. Classic. My mom in her little dress and fancy heels, Granny in her gold flats, my Aunt (who almost passed out, until they gave her a juicebox) and me, in all my rebellion.

I used this same persuasiveness last night at a hotel where nine of my girlfriends and I were staying for a fun evening of drinking and bonding, painting each others nails and braiding hair (kidding)...we had already hit the town and the mini-bar so, when the hotel bar was closed too I had to use my silky, mesmerizing voice to con the bell man into breaking into the bar for us and bringing us three bottles of wine. "I know you can do it, there is someone in this hotel with that power...and I won't get off the phone until I speak with them." This was all said very kindly and very flirtatiously, so not only did we get three bottles....later we heard a knock and were offered a fourth accompanied by some cheesecake cause I made the concierge laugh. When I say I get my way, I GET MY WAY.

You may be wondering why we all went for the star tattoo, seeing as it isn't original and may look a bit like I got carried away with a Sharpe in a fit of boredom. While reading A New Earth, I had a major revelation. I've been one to throw out sayings like, "my stars weren't aligned" "it's written in the stars...." etc. But when I read this, it was even more true for me:

"The atoms that make up your body were once forged inside stars, and the causes
of even the smallest event are virtually infinite and connected with the
whole in incomprehensible ways."

We are literally made up of the stars and we are all one. That's what that said to me. Which is so humbling and freeing, the feeling that we are in perfect alignment, at every moment-no matter the situation, we are where we need to be. Perfectly whole, perfectly aligned. My family shares the same philosophy, and so did My Great Grandma Stella, which is star in Italian.

I'd like to dedicate this song to.......

The one thing I really miss in New York, is the radio. No, not the top 40's, not Ryan Seacrest, definitely not any rap songs that refer to body parts as candy....I miss Delilah (and not the same one the Plain White T's miss, that song had to go F up her name.) Every night when I'd drive home from dance when I was a teenager, I tuned in to Delilah, she was like my radio mother. Then, when I moved to L.A. I settled for any late night talk show, where their voices sound like butter, the words are perfectly picked and placed on sentimental callers. And just like a doctor prescribes a pill and designates the ailment, the radio show host prescribes- a song. The effort someone puts forth to pick the song, had the patience to "tune in", write the letter and stay on hold has a sort of old time romance about it.

I've tried calling in before. Usually with no plan of what I'm gong to say or who I'd want to dedicate a song to but with hope that when they answered I'd gush out years of untapped "thank you's", apologies, misplaced gratitude and "I am changed because of you" sentiments. I'd open the floodgates, and literally pour out every time I wish I would've been a better (enter any role here), I'd gush every word that wanted to tell someone how I felt about them but I couldn't because my fear or pride got in the way. I'd call "just cause", since sometimes those are the calls people need the most.

I would unlock a fountain that contains all of the times I forgot to give my parents a card on their anniversary, or when I wanted to bawl in my car to a Celine Dion song when I was "losing my way" but I wasn't listening to the right tune. The DJ's voice, just like a therapist, would put lightness towards a situation I'd let grow beyond myself into something more than it was. I would pour out every emotion that could easily be mended by melodies. I'm sure that a lot of those emotions would involve unrequited love and pent up heartbreak that I've tried convincing myself I'm "over". Maybe if I'd gotten through as "devoted listener and caller #5" and dedicated "Make you feel my love" he would've understood. As clever as I can be with words, I don't feel like there's anything as powerful as music.

Had I ever gotten through; I would had Charlotte Martin sing "Everytime it rains" to everyone that stumbles and thinks they'll never be able to get dust themselves off, who forgets that "rain" isn't always a bad thing. Instead of using my own words I'd have Coldplay narrate what I really meant. Denvendra Banhart "I feel like a child" would have been the theme song to all of my "play dates" which I take often. Since I'm too much of a coward, Jason Mraz would sing, "If it kills me" to the person I think I'm perfect for, but he has no clue. I'd want my Dad to rock out to "Sky High" by Kanye West and my Ma to "Meaning" by Gavin Degraw. And when I meet my next "someone" he has to be just like the man India Arie wrote about in, "The Truth."

So dear listener, who would you like to dedicate a song to today?

Bootcamp, Business and Beer.

Life has interrupted my blogging process for the past week and I've spent the last three hours researching artist colonies in an attempt to find some peace. After another trip to L.A. for work, I decided to stay in Denver where my layover was, instead of going back to NYC right away. This action was spurred off of a trip to the beach where I realized the inordinate amount of liquor consumption, pastries and sedentary lifestyle had taken a toll on my "beach body" and I was not at all "summer ready." I'm also going on vacation to San Diego in a week to a beach resort, lovely.

In order to get to my acceptable summer weight, YES, I know, the last blog said I was completely comfortable and all that- but let's be real, I am a contradiction and that was before I was frolicking in a bikini. In public. And I'm not just a tanner, I like to run and chase waves. Running when you've been sitting on your ass for six months in New York City and adding a 4th and 5th meal everyday whilst giving the gym the big finger, is not anything like Baywatch.
I digress, in order to get that bod back- I needed BOOTCAMP. SERIOUS BOOTCAMP and I don't know if I've mentioned previously that I am a gym Nazi (that fierce lesbian on Work Out has NOTHING against me) when I put my mind to it, and that's exactly what I've done the past week. I created a meal plan and went to the gym twice a day for a few hours at a time. I needed complete concentrated focus on my body and my life.
They are a reflection of each other for me, and my body was reflecting that I've been treating myself like the background and not like "the talent." Does that make sense? I had gotten too comfortable without the expectations of being at "my best" both physically, and mentally. So one week of Nazi crazed motivation, and 7 pounds down.

What in the F was I eating? Straight laird? Holy God. Shallow? Yes I know, I have caught myself in some seriously vain moments, but at least I'm willing to admit it. With that being said, I am also very aware of what really matters and that 7 pounds is not important in the grand scheme of life, only important in a two piece. For me. Plus, I felt like a loaf of bread, literally-myself felt like a big old baguette.

Part of what set this off was some recent developments with my music. I have a few producer friends who approached me recently about making new music and it was just what I needed, the catch- the music is in Los Angeles. I live in New York. So I've been toying with the idea of spending the rest of the summer in L.A. focused completely on music (still writing) and spending every day in the studio....

Meanwhile, I've been a part of a HUGE new website that I'm ridiculously proud of, and have been working on for the past year called JigTV.com, the site is an online community for dancers, where they can create profiles, upload videos (like YouTube, but dance) and the coolest part- learn combinations from some of the BEST teachers in the world. We have gotten together some of the most incredible teachers in the their field, that are nationally known and well respected. The best part? I'm the "host" of the site, I conduct the interviews, fly to different states to hang wiht the choreographers, etc. It's fab. So even if you aren't a dancer, JigTV is radical and you can at least attempt learning a hip-hop routine, while wearing your boxers in your living room.

While doing all of that I've still been keeping busy with the magazine, working on getting new events to cover etc and with a new site called Guidespot.com. The site is full of witty, interesting, creative, funny, informative guides about different cities around the U.S. When else will I get emails from my boss that say Gspot in them? I don't think ever. I'm really proud to be a part of it because the writers are ridiculously talented and the guides are amazing, they kick all of those other travel guides sites straight in the ASShole.

So, that's where I've been the past week, except for last night when I fell off the wagon and found myself downing cake and Coors Light. My wagon always veers if sugary cake is in it's path, fuck. Back to blogging and gyming tomorrow.....hopefully my ass can keep up with the speedy pace I've set for myself this summer, or I at least hope I look good jogging to catch up to it.

My inner voice, still speaks nerd.

Sometimes I still feel like I'm that thirteen year old girl, with braces, extra lanky arms and legs, glasses (sometimes, blind the others), and eager like a puppy dog 24/7. I had really sweaty hands and was constantly anxious, I would avoid walking down the hall when someone was walking my way and was going to "give me daps", I'd find a corner to turn or a way to magically keep my hands full. I had an extreme unrequited crush (one specifically, but when it wasn't him it was someone else) and though I was "popular" I wore the right things, was friends with everyone, I still felt overlooked and as a result I've let that past perception of myself pour onto my future perception of how people see me.

I had two cute blonde friends (who I still adore, yet have a dormant animosity towards blonde people) and I was the awkward one in the middle, with the dark hair who looked like the Mom. They got the boobs first and had thick ponytails and little waists. Rather than receiving notes, or being pined after, I was relaying the info. I was the messenger, the joke maker, the mediator, the shoulder and the "other one."

I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror today and realized; I am not that person anymore. The thing is, I still absolutely FEEL like the awkward nervous, bubbly and irritatingly optimistic young teenager that I was. My insides have forgotten to catch up with the changes on the outside.

The good news, I have more boob now. As a matter of fact, I get a shade of cleavage every now and then depending on how many carbs I eat. I have embraced the parts of me that I thought we awkward and realize they are actually quite endearing. I smile too big sometimes and say all the wrong things, my eyes are huge and ridiculously expressive and show shock/awe anytime I listen intently to a story, I am happy that I crack one liners when I meet new people and I don't mind when people don't understand my humor. I don't need people to like or understand me all the time. Though in the past I'VE felt like the gawky one, I've come to realize it is not me at all. That old crush.....it's him. Those old friends that I felt like didn't take the time of day...thank God they didn't, it would've been a waste.

Today I looked in the mirror and saw a WOMAN. A strong, beautiful, passionate, intelligent woman. I saw a woman who has grown into her skin, who shows her pride through the width of her chest, her compassion and wonder through her eyes, her courage in her energy, and her spirit in her smile. I've come to love my nose, the cheeks, my hands, my voice, my mind and my panache. I'd forgotten to remind my "inner voice" of the truth of who I have become, aided by all of the things that I have been. On the inside I am still that "awkward" kid who says nerdy things but I have also become so much more than that and I rarely celebrate it.

We all have an inner idea of who we "think" we are and more often than not, that idea doesn't match up to the greatness and the truth of who you actually are, and the regard in which others hold you is often higher than your own. So tonight, I had a glass of champagne (at a pub?) and "celebrated" finally living/loving in my own skin.

Who do you identify with on the inside, and who have you become on the outside?

Love OBSESSED.

I Tivo wedding shows.

That's a line for a real "man scare" if I've ever seen one, eh? It is true, I am love obsessed.
It isn't the dress or the bouquet, it isn't the invitations or the destination. I am not obsessed with the stuff that makes up a wedding, I am obsessed with the idea of loving someone that much that you're willing/wanting to become, unified? As someone who is notoriously single, I am the most eager of anyone I know to want to share love with someone else.

And it doesn't stop at the wedding shows. Sure my DVR is full of Platinum Bride, Who's Wedding is it Anyway, etc. etc. But it's the entire IDEA OF LOVE. I even lit a candle to write this post because candlelight makes everything more romantic and because I'm in dire need for romance. I light candles, wear red lipstick midday, listen to music outside and watch clouds and little ants, I make eye contact with strangers walking by and turn around to see if they looked back, I sing along to country music and pour myself a glass of wine while I read a book in the bubble bath. I say it whenever I can and with the warmest, truest intention. I am a huge. Gigantic. Lovesick cliche. I even sing All You Need Is Love while coloring pink hearts on restaurant's paper table cloths. I was the kid that doodled names of boys on my notebooks and the palm of my hand.

I love hearing love stories, I love watching people in love, I love swooning, and I love lusting. I love the idea that you can find a single one person and have so much love for them that your heart is so full, overflowing and so abundant that it just has to pour onto someone else so that it doesn't explode, so that it will keep beating. I love that love is so powerful that imperfection is completely void. All in love is just. right. Perfect even, in all of it's seemingly outside views of "imperfection."

Shakespeare in Love, When Harry Met Sally, While You Were Sleeping, Love Actually....I could do a full reenactment in charades of every single scene.

The catch; love is the one thing that I yearn for the most and yet the one thing that eludes me. Just like the quote about the butterfly? I believe it's something like when you stop trying to catch it, it lands softly on your shoulder....or something. Sure, I have love. As a matter of fact, I love my family and my friends so deeply, and so unconditionally, they are one with me in my life. Anything they feel, I feel. Anything they want, I want for them. I leave my entire heart in their hands in full faith and they know they can do the exact same with me and they are safe. More than most people I know I have a deep well of love from other sources, yet when it comes to romantic love it is the one area where I continuously fall short.

I've had one serious boyfriend. One. But the love I had for him was so expansive I wonder if I'll ever be able to meet someone and love them like that again? Up until now, everyone has yet to measure up....so here I am, waiting for my One Great Love to show up again. And maybe that's the problem. Do you have to go through many "small loves" in order to build up to that "great love?" Is waiting for love a test of patience and self value?

Everyone says when you stop looking, that's when you find it. But, how do you stop wanting the one part of your life that is missing?

And just like the BIG Hollywood love cliche that I am, I cracked open the binding of a Deepak Chopra book "The Path to Love" to ya know, find the answer in the "spiritual sense" since that's the dramatic option (which I'd obviously opt for) and the first line I read:

You will be in love when you know that you are love.